You were the lucky girl that got to date, Bill Istvan Gunther Skarsgard. He is a famous actor. He's acted in TV shows and movies. The most famous one talked about role, was IT. The remake of it.
You always supported him. No matter what but, dating an actor came with a lot of hate, and pain. Meaning, some fans didn't like you.
And it took a toll on your life. The main thing people made fun of you for was because you and Bill had an 8 year age difference. He was 28 and you were 24.
They always made you feel like he was to mature for you. Or he was cheating on you with someone else his age. Or you were too young for him. And it made you and Bill's relationship awkward.
He would always tell you not to read the comments on your or his posts unless they were positive. Because you were sensitive about those types of things. Even your family told you he was too old.
But you weren't going to listen to them so you kept going. But today was different. You were in public and a fan. Who just so happened to Be Bill's age came up to say hi.
"Are you Bill Skarsgard?" The women asked. Bill turned around. "Yes." He said. She smiled. "Hello my name is Mary, and I just had to say. Your work is amazing". She said. Bill shook her hand and he took a picture.
She looked at you and your clothing. You had on bright colors. A red crop top, black shorts, and red converse. Mary had on more mature clothing. She wore a tight dress with heels. (you guys are at a fancy place).
She looked you up and down. "She's too young for you. Date someone your own age." She said. Bill scoffed. "Leave us, alone miss. She's MY girlfriend And MY love. Leave her alone". Bil said, grabbing your hand and walking away.
"What about the food?" You asked. "We can get some food when we get home". He said. You both left the building and you got in the car. "Baby, don't be afraid to confront people who talk to you like that. It's okay babe". Bill said.
You nodded your head. and he kissed you. "Don't be afraid of your age difference with me". He said. You nodded your head.
